


What's On His Mind

by moodyrebelmage



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Comfort, Daydreaming, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-05-02 01:05:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5227985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodyrebelmage/pseuds/moodyrebelmage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Apodyopis - The act of mentally undressing someone. </p><p>A glimpse at the post-Corypheus party from Cullen's perspective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's On His Mind

Cullen had spoken with a total of three people all night. Not that he minded this, but he could sense Josephine’s irritation from all the way across the main hall. She had spent the last week pulling the fete together while they awaited the Inquisitor’s return, had even managed to enlist his help once or twice. It had been a way for those left behind to recover and distract themselves from the horror of not knowing how it all would end, but now that she was back, alive, he had no interest in the crowd.

The party had caught the Inquisitor off guard. Outside on the landing, for a flicker of a second, he had seen the shadows under her eyes, the exhaustion, the need for quiet and care. She collected herself quickly, accepting the gesture with grace and a soft sigh. She squeezed his hand at the door, and then she was gone, floating through the crowd like a leaf on a stream.

The shock of relief he had felt upon first seeing her again was now a dull pang drawing all of his attention to her, a physical tug that had him backing up to the cool stone wall to ground himself. He could have gone with her, could have attached himself to her side while she mingled with the gilded mob clawing for her blessing, but he would have been a distraction. She would have given him the attention he craved, and she would have forfeit the time that was meant to be a celebration of _her_. He couldn’t bear it. And so he watched.

There was a slight hitch in her step. No one else seemed to notice, her poise masking the injury from anyone who didn’t know her intimately well. After everything she had given, she deserved better than to be forced to swallow her pain for the benefit of tedious strangers. Fingers of heat spread from his chest to his core as he envisioned pulling her away from all of it, rescuing her as she had just rescued all of them, filling a tub with warm water and soft petals and holding her while she soaked the aches and fatigue away.

They hadn’t even given her a chance to change. Her boots were caked with mud halfway up her calf, she used her shawl to hide a dark, mysterious stain on her upper arm, and every so often she surreptitiously picked a nettle from the edge of her coat. Just a few more hours, and he would gladly devote the rest of the night, the rest of his life to serving every square inch of her.

Her feet must have been killing her. After two weeks of travel, it was cruelty to make her wander around this banal party. The boots would be the first to go. He’d toss them under the bed so she wouldn’t even have to look at them as he pressed his thumbs into her sore muscles, rubbing slow methodical circles up to her ankles until the tedium of the evening melted off of her.

But of course, her calves would be sore, too, and her thighs even more so after so much riding. He would plant a kiss on the top of each foot, and then the breeches would have to go. It was his duty to track down whatever affront had her limping and avenge her. Only gentle caresses would do until he had found it, investigated it with fingers and lips, confirmed that it wasn’t serious. Then he could resume the massage, rubbing the knots out of each leg in its turn, tugging at her tired skin until the blood pumped warm and alive under his hands.

She looked encased, restrained. Her sash knotted firmly around her waist, the leather of her vest tight and shiny across her chest, he needed to free her. He wanted to hear the sigh slip from her lips, heavy with relief, as her breasts were liberated from their confinement, see the goosebumps spread across her shoulders as the cool air whispered against her skin. He would defeat every hurt and replace it with comfort and indulgence.

His sight was hazy with need, and he took a deep breath to rein it in before he made a fool of himself. When his vision cleared, he scanned the crowd, struggling to locate her again, to ease the tension in his chest, but she was gone. Fighting the urge to stand on a chair, he pushed his way through, ignoring the huffs of the nobles he jostled along the way.

She was on the dais, reaching for her door. He rushed to catch her before she disappeared behind it.

“You managed to slip away,” he said. “I thought I might claim more of your attention after all.”

“Is there something on your mind?”

“Everything.”


End file.
